"Sharyn McCrumb has few equals and no superiors between latest novelists."

*San Diego Union-Tribune

For one fateful weekend, the yearly technology fiction and delusion conference, Rubicon, has all yet taken over a often traditional inn. Now the halls are alive with Trekkies, tech nerds, and myth players of their Viking finery *all of them desirous to hail their hero, bestselling myth writer Appin Dungannon: a diminutive despot whose towering ego greater than compensates for his five' 1" top . . . and whose gleeful disdain for his fawning lovers is legendary.

Hurling insults and furnishings with equivalent abandon, the negative, tiny writer proceeds to alienate ersatz extraterrestrial beings and make-believe warriors at warp velocity. yet someplace among the dress contest and the exhibition Dungeons & Dragons online game, Dungannon will get performed in. whereas die-hard lovers of Dungannon's likely never-ending sword-and-sorcery sequence ask yourself how they will move on and hucksters ask yourself how a lot they could get for the useless man's autograph, a hapless cop wonders, Who would need to kill Appin Dungannon? however the actual query, because the harried conference organizers understand, is Who would not ?

Corvis Rebaine, the fear of the East, a guy as speedy with a quip as he's with a blade, returns during this hugely expected sequel to Ari Marmell’s acclaimed The Conqueror’s Shadow, a debut hailed for its fresh tackle darkish delusion and wonderful flashes of sharp, sarcastic wit. Now Marmell increases the stakes in a narrative that has all of the humor and pleasure of its predecessor, plus a terrifying new villain so evil that he could be a fit for Rebaine himself.

He wondered if he ought to take a pill now, or wait for the headache to arrive. “Richard, I really must go,” he said, scooping up the manuscripts. ” He nodded toward an inert form on a straight chair near the window. Joseph Bonnenberger, shirt buttoned up to his chin, four pens in his pocket, and 10W40 hair, sat squinting at a Rubicon brochure, apparently in preference to actually attending any of its events. Eventually his obsession with the Diplomacy game would force him from his lair into actual interaction with others of his species, but a breakthrough of this magnitude was still hours away.

Come in. You’re safe. ” “I hope not. ” “They’re the entries in a short-story competition they want you to judge. I thought I’d have a look at them. ” She glared at him defensively, as if she expected him to object. He nodded at the papers strewn on the floor. “Interesting grading system. ” She extracted a laser-printed manuscript in Gothic lettering from a pile on the pillow. “Listen to this . . Starwind, with her flaming hair about her shoulders and a red harem costume of sheerest Polarian silk, looked as Bimbos of the Death Sun 39 seductive as any of the Rigelian slave beauties Hawker had seen in Astro-Porn Magazine.

Marion went back to her salad with the air of one who has performed an unpleasant task only to discover that she enjoyed it. Jay Omega, who had never managed to feel like an author anyway, felt no sense of kinship with his fellow writer. He could think of nothing to talk about, and the idea of provoking Dungannon’s illconcealed wrath made him even less likely to talk than usual. Miles Perry, who would have liked to have discussed convention business with Diefenbaker, felt compelled as host to keep up a flow of bright chatter.